No Good Deed
by Marion Hood
Summary: It is amazing where a little kindness will land you.
1. Chapter 1

The first time he met her, she was lost.

It was late and the diner was eerily similar to hundreds like it across America, let alone Kansas. But aside from a slight stickiness to the floor, it was clean and Dean Winchester had eaten in far worse places than this. He made his way carefully across the linoleum, dodging the yellow plastic sign which protected a recent spillage. He shot the waitress, a tired forty something, a charming smile and settled onto one of the lonely bar stools by the counter. The late hour was reflected in the choice of clientèle. Only two other tables were occupied, and neither occupant looked very threatening. A mug of coffee so strong it could probably melt through iron bars was settled in front of him and Dean gratefully drank in the steam.

A hunter's instincts are never off duty, so on some level he was aware of the comings and goings around him, but Dean was tired. Bone weary, even. The trials, Sam...Castiel. Everything was weighing him down and as strong as he was...he couldn't carry it all. So here he was, in the middle of the night, running away for just a little bit. His own private rebellion.

The door opened a second time, but not far enough to catch the bell. Dean barely made out the quiet steps across the floor as, whoever it was, made their way towards him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small figure slip on to the stool next to him.

"What can I get cha, honey?"

She, and the figure was definitely female, hunched in on herself, as though she was afraid of being acknowledged.

"Te...Coffee. Please?" She whispered.

The waitress nodded and left to grab the nearest coffee pot. The woman glanced around, eyes catching on the few patrons. Dean turned his face away when she looked at him and offered her the back of his head. She ignored him, resting her elbows on the counter and dropped her head on to her hands. Dean shifted so he could see her, and tried not to stare. She wore clothes which were clean, but threadbare, topped with a knee length military leather jacket, which was on the verge of being ragged, and battered leather boots. In fact, "_ragged_" ,seemed to be the best word to describe her. Her entire appearance gave the impression of someone who had been through too much, too quickly. Her hair, which was roughly cut, obscured her face, hiding her behind a screen of brown curls. It was the hand propping up her head that interested him the most, though. The skin was chapped and broken, from wind or cold, he didn't know and a large burn scar marred the back of her hand, as though someone had slopped some boiling liquid over her.

The waitress returned and poured her a large mug, (the largest mug she could find, Dean suspected) of boiling coffee and the woman raised her head to smile in thanks. It wasn't hard to see why the waitress was being so kind.

Her cheekbones were sharp and her eyes bruised, with a lack of sleep and a large amount of stress that probably went back months. Her lips, a dull pink, were bitten and the bottom one had split recently, as though she'd taken a blow to the face. Her skin tone was sallow and there were frown lines just beginning to show in a woman who couldn't have been any older than he was. A large jagged scar crossed from just over her left eye, down across the bridge of her nose, coming to a halt in the middle of her cheek. It was a jagged, ugly thing that almost hid the fact that this woman, or what's left of her at least, used to be a pretty girl.

She doctored her coffee heavily, which told him she wasn't used to drinking it. It makes him wonder why she'd bother such a useless attempt to blend in, when everything about her stood out. Dean's burger arrived, with all the sides and utterly unhealthy (just how he liked it) and he tucked in, never really taking his eyes off her.

There's something about her which he can't quite write off. She sits like a soldier but she looked like a survivor. That and the accent she had...

"You're not from around here, are you?"

She didn't jump, just glanced at him warily, wide brown eyes looking him over. One hand goes to her pocket grabbing what his instincts tell him is probably a weapon. He holds out his palms flat to show he didn't mean her any harm, making sure to shift his body slightly away from her so she knows she still has a way out.

She just shook her head silently, the knuckles gripping the coffee mug going white.

Dean left her to it after that and they both sat quietly. The waitress watched her with something between pity and abject worry, as the remaining patrons paid up and left.

She waited until the other woman was as far away as possible before she spoke, with a voice cracked from disuse.

It was a barest whisper and Dean almost missed it.

"Where is here?"

Everything that Dean's been through, angels and demons, time travel and hell, means that he doesn't give that question the incredulity anybody else would have thought it deserved.

"Just outside of Lebanon, Kansas, America. Date's August 17th 2013." He said instead.

She stared at him and nodded.

"Thank you."

A few more minutes pass and Dean watched as she rummaged in what had to be the deepest pockets he's ever seen, looking for money. Eventually she proves successful and several rumpled green notes are deposited on the counter. If he hadn't been looking for it, Dean would've missed the longing look at the menu board. But Dean had been starving one too many times in his childhood, not to know the look of a person who's hungrier than they can afford. The next time the waitress passes to fill up their coffees, he passes her his empty plate.

"Can I get her a burger?" He asked quietly. "Just put it on my bill, would ya?"

The woman had been too busy rifling through her pockets to hear him and so was honestly surprised when the waitress, beaming approvingly at Dean, deposited the meal in front of her.

She stared helplessly at them both, almost shaking.

"I didn't...I'm not..." She pleaded desperately.

"Just eat, honey." The waitress nods her head to Dean. "Don't worry about the money, 'kay? He's got you covered."

That startled brown gaze is switched to Dean and he winced at the sheer amazement in her eyes. How long is it since someone was kind to this woman?

"It's fine." He assured her, handing over more than enough money to pay for the burgers. The waitress counted it and frowned, moving to hand him some change, but he nods to the woman and the frown shifts to understanding. He might as well do some good that doesn't involve blood being spilled. Dean gets another beaming smile in return and grabs his coat to leave. A scarred hand caught at his arm and he stared down at her. She's rather small, especially sitting down and she seems to be drowning inside her coat.

"Thank you." She breathed, and Dean would swear he'd never heard someone sound quite so grateful as she did then. He shrugged and left, heading back to the Impala and home to Sam.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time he met her, she saved his life.

The demons had come from nowhere. He'd been minding his own business, passing through the alleyway to the small gun store down the street, when they'd ambushed him, striking him across the skull with what felt like a pipe. Normally, and his life is that screwed up that he meant this, ten demons wouldn't be that much of an issue, not now they have the knife and especially not after the time he spent in purgatory. But he took a beating yesterday and sat up all night listening to Sam coughing his lungs out and he really hasn't got the strength right now.

He puts up a good fight though. He should be grateful the alleyway is so narrow that they can't stand any more than two abreast at a time, but seeing as they're kicking the shit out of him, he can't bring himself to care.

"Hey!"

The voice is weak, and unusually familiar. The demons pause to stare at the woman standing in the street light.

"Leave him alone." She ordered, and she looked surprisingly unafraid, but Dean's eye has started swelling up and he's peering through a forest of legs. She gives him enough time to reach for Ruby's knife in his pocket, though and that alone is enough to turn the odds in his favour.

One of the demons snorted.

"What's he to you?"

She stiffened.

"He's my friend." She whispered, waving her arm in one sharp movement. He missed quite what it was she did but suddenly the demon closest to her fly back, knocking several of his companions down with him. It gave Dean enough time to scrambled to his feet and the fight became a lot more equal. Of the ten demons they started with, the number dropped to four as Dean slashed through the demons with Ruby's knife. The bursts of light she produces keep the demons as his back away from him, and several sport heavily bleeding wounds.

It's over rather suddenly. The last demon in front of Dean spasms and fall, and he was just turning to warn her, when she too is struck over the head. This blow knocks her unconscious and she crumpled into a ragged heap on the ground. The last demon, who seems to be possessing someone's grandmother, looks rather startled that Dean managed throw the knife, hilt over blade, with enough force to sink it into it's shoulder.

He scrambled forward, crouching next to the woman. It was three days ago that he saw her last, in that tiny diner and she'd crossed his mind several times since then. He'd wondered what had happened to her in a vague sort of way. And her she was, saving his life.

"Hey!" He shook her gently, wincing when his hand came away red and wet. "Dammit."

Dean grabbed the stick she'd been holding, tucking it safely in his pocket, before he scooped her up in his arms. Sam was not going to be happy to see him.

* * *

Sam wasn't, as it turned out, happy. But he helped Dean settle the woman on one of the spare beds and check her for serious injuries. Other a badly mended broken bone which had nothing to do with Dean, her only serious problem was the gash across the back of her head. Well, that and the fact that she wouldn't wake up. Sam's medical knowledge isn't great, but he suggests, with the air that he knows more than Dean does, that she's unconscious more due to exhaustion than actually injury. They removed her coat and boots, leaving them nearby on a chair and without them it's painfully obvious how underweight she is. The bruises are no less severe than the last time Dean saw them and he can't help but think Sam might be right.

"Why can't she go to the hospital?" Sam sighed, packing away the medical kit. "Don't you think we've got enough on our hands?"

"You didn't see her." Dean ground his teeth, washing the blood off his face. "She was taking down those demons like they were nothing. I want to know what the hell she is and why she helped me."

Sam's shoulders slumped and he nodded, unable to find the energy to keep arguing.

She didn't wake for two days and it's only through chance that Dean's there when she does. He'd been passing through the corridor, searching the Men of Letters Bunker for things that might prove useful, when he heard the sharp intake of breath.

"SAM!" He yelled, moving into the room.

His yell wakes her completely and her eyes open. She stared at him in confusion before instinct takes over and she bolts from the bed, ducking past him into the hallway. Dean cursed and gave chase, which proves fruitless because she's run straight into his man mountain of a brother. Sam settled two large hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes, waiting for her to fully wake up as she struggles against him, lashing out in fear.

"Who are you?" She demanded, voice cracked, a stray tear winding it's way down her cheek. She's afraid, deathly so and that hurts Dean more than he would have expected.

"I'm Sam," Sam turned her gently, not letting go of her shoulders. "That's my brother, Dean. You saved his life."

Her head cocked to one side and she frowns, disrupting the line of her scar. She stops shaking briefly and slumps.

"You're...the diner. You..." She coughed. "Bought me food?"

He nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I did. You wanna tell me why you ran into an alley full of demons?"

Both Winchesters were expecting some form of denial or disbelief about the demons comment, but she just shrugged, stepping carefully away from Sam. He let her go, but only because Dean took a step closer to her, blocking her only mean of escape.

"You needed help." She pushed some of her curls back from her face and Dean spotted another scar on her neck, as though someone held a knife to it. She glanced around desperately, looking for a way out.

"You didn't have to." He murmured.

"You were kind to me." She said simply.

Dean sighed.

"Right. Well, we brought you here to fix you up. You've been unconscious for two days."

Her eyes became panicked and she swallowed loudly.

"Two days?" Her breathing became erratic and she began to shake again, almost vibrating with terror. "I shouldn't be here. I've already stayed in one place too long..."

"Hey, just calm down..."

"They're going to find me." She doesn't quite sob, but it's close and edged with panic. "You're all in terrible danger!"

"Hey!" She stopped pacing and stared at Dean. "No one's going to find anyone. I promise you, you're safe." She shook her head, disbelief etched across her scarred features. "Now why don't you tell us your name, huh?"

She gave him a bleak look.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she told him darkly. "And you never should have helped me."

* * *

_**A/N This is not the Dean/Hermione story I meant to write. That one is still in progress. **_

_**This is a set up to possible a much larger story, but I want to know what you think of it. **_

_**Tentatively,**_

_**Hood**_


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